


A Different Kind Of Spiral

by abstract_moth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Depression, Gen, Grand Prix Final Banquet, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, POV Yakov Feltsman, Yakov adores Makkachin you cannot convince me otherwise, Yakov is equal parts yelling and ice dad, kind of Yakov tries his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstract_moth/pseuds/abstract_moth
Summary: Yakov’s skaters were nothing short of insufferable. The bitter winter cold, long hours at the rink, and the looming Grand Prix Final were certainly not helping matters. One morning, just when Yakov thought things couldn’t get worse, he arrived at the rink to find most of his skaters hungover and Viktor missing.“Yakov doesn’t want to remember that this isn’t the first time Viktor’s disappeared. Like the time Viktor got so drunk after a competition that he missed the flight home. Or the time Viktor took a surprise trip to Peru and didn’t tell anyone where he was until he got back.He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Viktor couldn’t have gone far. He was probably somewhere in St. Petersburg, just waiting for Yakov to find him.Easier said than done.”
Relationships: Yakov Feltsman & Victor Nikiforov, a sprinkle of victuuri at the end - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	A Different Kind Of Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> spiral (n) - an element in figure skating where the skater glides on one foot while raising the free leg above hip level.  
>   
> downward spiral (n) - a situation where something continuously decreases or gets worse.

Before Yakov had even entered the rink, he could tell it was going to be a very long day.

Weather in St. Petersburg was always dreadful. The extreme cold combined with the lack of daylight tended to make everyone tense and irritable.

Yakov's skaters were far from exempt. On a regular day, this would've been just barely manageable. However with the Grand Prix Final a mere week away, they had become nearly impossible to deal with.

Yakov stopped at the front entrance, trying not to imagine whatever chaos his skaters were certainly creating. He grumbled under his breath. This was what happened when you worked with people with undeveloped prefrontal cortexes. Bracing himself for the inevitable, Yakov pulled open the door to the rink-

Only to be greeted by complete silence.

No squabbles. No arguments. No improvised lifts.

Just the dull hum of the air system.

Yakov took a few tentative steps forward. Both Mila and Yuri should be here by now. They arrived the earliest, putting in practice time before the school day started. For the past few weeks, Viktor had been arriving early as well, tracing lazy circles into the ice until the zamboni driver kicked him off.

Even if Viktor had decided to come in later, Mila and Yuri alone kept the noise level of the rink a few decibels above normal.

Something was wrong.

A quick search found Yuri lacing on his skates in the locker room.

"Where is everyone?" Yakov asked.

Yuri didn't even look up.

"No idea," he answered.

"It's almost six," Yakov said, glancing at the clock.

"Not my fault they can't arrive on time."

Yakov scoffed.

"I saw the four of you leaving the rink together last night," he said. The memory coming back to him. "You're saying you know nothing?"

Yuri kept his eyes trained on his skates.

"We went out for dinner together," he admitted. "Is that a crime?"

This actually wasn't unusual at all. As skaters with incredibly tight schedules, they tended to grab meals together a few times a week.

"It will be if they don't get here soon," Yakov replied. "What did you do after dinner?"

"I went home," Yuri said.

"And the others?"

Yuri tucked his laces into his skates.

"Plisetsky!"

"They went to a bar."

" _What!?_ " Yakov yelled.

"It was Viktor's idea!"

"And you didn't stop them!?"

"I tried, but they wouldn't listen!" Yuri snapped back. "It's not my fault they're idiots!"

Yakov rubbed his temples.

He was getting too old for this.

"Finish getting ready!" Yakov yelled. "Then I want you on the ice!"

Without another word, he turned and exited the locker room.

This was going to be a complete disaster. Yakov knew his skaters well. Mila never passed up a chance to cause trouble, Georgi was always more than eager to drown his sorrows in alcohol, and Viktor...

Well…

Yakov grumbled to himself. The Grand Prix Final was only a week away. He should be busy coaching, not babysitting a bunch of drunk children.

He rubbed his temples again.

This was going to be a very long day.

* * *

Mila arrived half an hour late.

"The Grand Prix Final is in a week!" Yakov yelled as soon as she walked through the door. "How are you supposed to compete if you can't even stick to a schedule!"

"I'm so sorry, Yakov," Mila said, cringing at the sound of his voice. "I overslept."

Judging by the way she kept squinting against the overhead lights, Yakov was willing to bet she was hungover.

"Sure you did!" Yakov shouted. "What were you even thinking!? Going out for drinks when competition is around the corner!"

Mila paled.

"Yuri told you," she said.

Yakov simply grunted.

"It wasn't my idea," she said. "Viktor practically dragged-"

"Don't you dare pass the blame to your rinkmate!" Yakov yelled. "Learn to take some responsibility! You're a professional athlete! Are you going to do every little thing people suggest!?"

Mila looked down at the ground.

"No," she said.

"That's right!" he shouted. "Remember that next time you decide to jeopardize your career!"

"I'm sorry, coach," Mila said. "It won't happen again."

"It better not!"

A tense second passed.

"So what happened after you fools left the bar?" Yakov asked.

"Nothing," she said. "We were all pretty tired, so we decided to call it a night. I took a taxi home."

"What about Viktor and Georgi?"

"They live in the same direction, so they left together," Mila said.

She looked up at him.

"Why?" Mila asked. Even hungover, she was remarkably perceptive. "Is something wrong?"

What's wrong is that my skaters can't seem to arrive on time!" Yakov yelled instead, perhaps louder than necessary. "Now go get ready!"

Mila fled to the locker room.

Yakov allowed himself a moment of peace. He sat down on a nearby bench and rubbed his hands together. Both Yuri and Mila had said that it was Viktor's idea to go to the bar.

He let out a sigh.

Since the competition season started, Viktor had become even more distant. It was small things: a moment of silence here, an unenthusiastic spin there; hardly anything noteworthy.

But Yakov still noticed.

The spark in Viktor's eyes, the one he carried since he was a child, seemed to grow dimmer with each coming year.

Viktor Nikiforov was a legend. He had dominated an entire sport for over a decade and was in the middle of a four year winning streak.

But as time went on, the audience slowly became accustomed to Viktor's excellence. Their expectations rose and they began demanding more and more from the skater.

Viktor, ever the people pleaser, made it his mission to keep surprising them. Keep them on the edge of their seats, enthralled by his performance, waiting for the next flourish, spin, and surprise. Year after year, Viktor surpassed record after record; while at the same time, the looming threat of retirement began to stalk his every movement.

Yakov couldn't imagine the pressure Viktor was under. But Viktor had been dealing with these responsibilities since he was a child, he knew how to cope with the pressure and stress. He was an expert on pushing through the pain, striving to do better, and achieving the impossible.

But one could only bear so many Russian winters.

And this was far from the only time the cracks in Viktor's facade had shown through.

Yakov pulled out his phone and dialed Viktor's number. When the call eventually went to voicemail, he tried again and again and again. After the fourth call, Yakov slipped the phone back into his pocket.

He made himself believe that Viktor was fine. That last night Viktor simply drank too much. A product of his childish and impulsive nature, nothing more.

Viktor was probably still in bed, sleeping off the alcohol. That or clinging to a toilet hungover out of his mind. He would call in the next hour or so, complaining about his headache and begging Yakov to let him take the day off.

Yakov stood up and turned back to the rink.

Viktor was fine.

* * *

Georgi came in at eight o'clock. Unlike the younger skaters he didn't have any school to fit into his schedule, so he technically wasn't late. However anyone could notice the bags under his eyes and the way his normally perfect hair was in complete disarray. He clearly had a long night.

"My office!" Yakov yelled. "Now!"

Georgi followed him without complaint. Of all his skaters, he was the most obedient. If Yakov was going to get one of them to spill the story of last night's drunken charades, it'll be him.

The moment the door closed behind him, Yakov started yelling.

"What were you thinking!? Drinking a mere week before competition!" Georgi actually wasn't competing in the Grand Prix Final, but whatever. "And dragging Mila along too!? She's a minor!"

"I'm sorry," Georgi said. "But it was just a few drinks!"

Yakov gave him a stern glare.

"...until it wasn't," Georgi corrected. "I honestly wasn't going to drink that much, but then Viktor challenged me to a contest and Mila was egging me on-"

"Enough with the excuses!" Yakov yelled. "You need to take some responsibility!"

"I know," Georgi said, looking down at the floor.

"You were completely careless and inconsiderate!" Yakov said. "Your actions have failed not only yourself, but also your rinkmates!"

"I'm sorry, Yakov," Georgi said.

A moment of silence passed.

As much as Yakov wanted to keep yelling, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

"So what happened after you left the bar?" Yakov asked.

"My place was nearby, so Viktor walked me home," Georgi said. "We were both pretty out of it, so I tried convincing him to stay the night. But he said he had to go check on Makkachin."

"What time was this?" Yakov asked.

"I don't remember," Georgi said. "Maybe two or three o'clock?"

Yakov glanced at the clock on the wall. That meant Viktor had been gone for at least five hours.

"Wait," Georgi said, his eyes going wide. "Has Viktor been gone all morning?"

Yakov sighed.

"Yes."

"Did you try calling his cell?"

"Every quarter hour," Yakov said. "It keeps going to voicemail."

Georgi sighed. "That isn't good, Yakov."

Yakov doesn't need to be reminded.

He doesn't want to remember that this isn't the first time Viktor's disappeared. Like the time Viktor got so drunk after a competition that he missed the flight home. Or the time Viktor took a surprise trip to Peru and didn't tell anyone where he was until he got back.

Judging by the look on Georgi's face, he's thinking the same thing.

"He was pretty drunk," Georgi said. "Maybe he's just taking the morning off."

"Maybe," Yakov said.

"And it's still pretty early," Georgi said. "He'll probably just come in later."

Yakov hoped he was right.

"So why are you still standing there?" he asked. "Go get ready!"

* * *

Yakov trained with Georgi for the rest of the morning. Hungover or not, Russian Nationals were only a few weeks away.

At noon, Georgi left for lunch. He wasn't scheduled to return to the rink until the evening, instead spending his afternoon cross training at the gym. The school day wasn't over yet, so Mila and Yuri weren't due back at the rink for another few hours. Usually Yakov would eat lunch in his office and then have one-on-one sessions with Viktor.

Yakov checked his phone.

Still no response.

Yakov headed toward his office. Upon entering, he grabbed his hat and pulled on his thick outer coat. He closed the office door behind him and headed towards the rink's main entrance.

It wasn't a long drive to Viktor's apartment. In less than ten minutes, Yakov found himself climbing the stairway to Viktor's floor. He found the correct door and stopped to fiddle with his keys. On the other side of the door, he could hear Makkachin whining. Was that a good or bad sign?

Yakov found the right key and opened the door.

Makkachin greeted him in the entrance way. She walked over to sniff his hands, checking for treats.

Pulling the door closed behind him, Yakov glanced across the apartment.

"Vitya?" he called.

There was no answer.

Yakov bent down to rub Makkachin's ears.

"Where's your owner?" he asked her. Makkachin tilted her head before going to stand next to her food bowl. She let out a loud whine.

Ignoring her for a moment, Yakov walked down the hall to Viktor's bedroom. He rapped on the door.

"Vitya?"

Still no answer.

Yakov slowly pushed the door open.

There was no one inside the room.

Yakov's heart sunk in his chest. A quick search found the bathroom, spare bedroom, and closet similarly empty.

Viktor wasn't home.

Viktor was naturally well organized. He kept his bed made and the dishes put away. In addition, sponsorships stocked his closet full with more designer clothes and shoes than he could wear. It was difficult to spot signs of anyone living there, let alone anything out of place.

Still, Yakov noticed the little things. How Viktor's favorite winter coat was missing from the closet. How his toothbrush was dry. How Makkachin kept whining next to her bowl, as if she hadn't been fed.

All these details confirmed what Yakov feared most: Viktor hadn't come home last night.

Yakov sat down on the couch and glanced over at the clock. Georgi said that Viktor left his place at about two or three o'clock in the morning. That meant Viktor had been missing for at least nine hours.

He pulled out his phone again and dialed Viktor's number.

No answer.

Yakov gripped his phone, perhaps a little too tightly, and put it back in his pocket. He reached up to rub his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath.

Wherever Viktor was, Yakov hoped he had sought shelter. Winter in St. Petersburg was brutal. It hadn't snowed last night, but the frigid temperatures could easily induce hypothermia. If Viktor…

The mere thought of _that_ sent a cold shock through Yakov, as if he'd been plunged into freezing waters, stuck beneath the waves, unable to breathe, with coldness seeping into every part of his being.

Despite the heater humming diligently across the room, he wrapped his coat tighter around himself. His hands were starting to shake. Yakov clutched at his aching heart, trying to stop the trembling. He was not going to think about _that_. He wasn't even going to consider the possibility.

There was a soft clink of nails on the hardwood floor.

Yakov looked up to see Makkachin standing in the doorway.

"What is it?" he asked.

Makkachin simply whined.

"Are you hungry?" Yakov asked. "Did Vitya not come home to feed you breakfast?"

At the word "breakfast," Makkachin jumped happily, wagged her tail, and ran to the kitchen. Yakov followed her and placed some food into her bowl. As the dog ate, he checked one last thing.

Luckily, Viktor's passport and emergency money were still safely secured in his closet's safe.

At least Yakov was certain Viktor hadn't left the country. He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Viktor couldn't have gone far. He was probably somewhere in St. Petersburg, just waiting for Yakov to find him.

Easier said than done.

"Come on," Yakov said to Makkachin. He opened the front door. "Let's find your owner."

Yakov didn't take his car. The first places he wanted to check were within walking distance and he suspected Makkachin was in need of a walk.

He headed towards the bar first. Before he left the rink, Georgi told him exactly where they went drinking. Yakov figured it was a decent place to start.

The bar was situated between a pastry shop and a restaurant. There was a closed sign on the front door, but the lights were on inside. Yakov tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. After instructing Makkachin to wait on the sidewalk, he stepped into the building.

The only other occupant was one very tired bartender. He was wiping down the counter with an old rag and looked as if he might collapse at any moment.

He shot Yakov a cold glare.

"Unless you're a liquor shipment, you can't be in here. We don't open for a few more hours," the bartender said.

"I'm looking for someone," Yakov explained.

"There's no one here but me."

"He's in his late twenties, about 180 cm tall," Yakov explained. "He was here last night with a few others-"

"That is very interesting," the bartender said. "Please leave."

"He has silver hair-

"Silver?" the bartender repeated. This seemed to grab his attention.

"Yes," Yakov said. "Have you seen him?"

The bartender nodded.

"Last night," he said. "He tipped more than twice his bill. And it was a _big_ bill."

Well that certainly sounded like Viktor.

"What time was he here?"

"I don't remember exactly," the bartender said. "Must've been sometime after dinner. He was with a group. I remember they drank for a few hours before leaving."

Yakov looked down at the ground. At least he knew that Georgi had been telling the truth, but he was still no closer to finding Viktor.

"But he came back," the bartender said.

Yakov looked up.

"He did?"

"Yeah, maybe an hour or so later. He practically drank the rest of the night," the bartender said. "I eventually cut him off, but he didn't want to leave, so he just sat at the bar until last call."

"When was that?"

"About six o'clock. I offered to call him a taxi, but he refused. He said he didn't want to go home. He was a nice fellow though. The tip he left was the biggest I've had all month."

"Did you see where he went afterward?"

"I didn't," the bartender said. "Sorry."

"No, thank you," Yakov said. "You helped a lot."

Yakov exited the bar and continued down the street. Makkachin followed him, occasionally stopping to sniff patches of ground.

So Viktor had spent most of his night drinking at a bar. That was at least partially good news, right? At least he hadn't spent the night on the freezing St. Petersburg streets. Some businesses were open by the early hours of the morning. It was possible that Viktor had entered one of them to escape the cold.

Yakov walked along the street, checking the nearby shops. However, whatever luck he had seemed to be running out. There was no further sign of Viktor. He expanded his search, checking Viktor's favorite cafes and restaurants.

They all turned up empty.

Makkachin was beginning to tire, so Yakov returned her to Viktor's apartment. He opened the door, half hoping Viktor would be home.

But the apartment was exactly how he left it.

Yakov checked the clock as he refilled Makkachin's water bowl. It was well into the afternoon, more than two hours since he started his search.

Grumbling under his breath, Yakov cancelled his sessions for the rest of the day. He figured that Mila and Georgi were too hungover anyway and Yuri could fend for himself for one afternoon. Yakov would give them all a stern lecture tomorrow.

But right now he needed to find Viktor.

Yakov gave Makkachin one last rub of the ears before heading out once more.

He took his car this time and began checking the nearby parks, libraries, and bookstores; anywhere Viktor might've considered going.

They all turn up empty too.

With the obvious places covered, his search was becoming less and less organized. Three hours in, Yakov has to admit that he is starting to run out of places to check. He called the nearby hospitals, asking if they had seen a silver haired man.

They haven't.

Yakov doesn't know whether he was happy or disappointed by the news. In any case, he doesn't have time to dwell on the feeling. He continued his search throughout the city. He started looking under overhangs. He cut through alleyways, checking behind crates and under dumpsters. He doubled back to the cafes and restaurants, checking them again.

Nothing.

By the fourth hour of his search, Yakov still has no idea where Viktor is.

He found himself sitting in his car, wracking his brain.

Yakov wondered if he should file a missing persons report. Viktor had been missing for almost 11 hours. The police had better resources and could conduct a more systematic search. However, that would undoubtedly mean widespread media coverage. The entire world didn't need to know that Russia's greatest figure skater had a bad day.

But if Yakov couldn't find Viktor in the next hour, he'll have to revisit that idea.

Yakov rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. He had known for weeks that something was off about Viktor. Why hadn't he done anything? It was incredibly hypocritical of him to scold his skaters for enabling Viktor's behavior when he was guilty of doing the same exact thing.

And why did he wait until noon before starting his search? What had he been thinking? He should have dropped by Viktor's apartment the moment he had failed to show up at the rink. At least then he could've started his search sooner, maybe done _something_ more.

Yakov looked up. The sun was descending, casting orange hues across the sky. He could see grey clouds rolling in from the north. It was going to snow tonight. If he couldn't find Viktor by then-

Yakov reached up to rub his eyes. He was _not_ going to cry. He wasn't. He-

Yakov grabbed a handkerchief and furiously dabbed at his face.

He didn't even know where to look next. He had run out of places to check an hour ago. But sitting here in his car was accomplishing absolutely nothing, so he got out of it and started walking down the cold street. He watched the people and cars passing by, listening as his boots crunched the slush underfoot.

Viktor spent most of his time at the rink or the gym. In his free time, he went for walks with Makkachin, sometimes stopping at nearby parks to watch the snowfall. On particularly cold days, he would stay at home, snuggle up on the couch, and read a book.

Yakov remembered the years they had lived together, back in Viktor's adolescence. As he recalled, Viktor had the awful habit of staying up until the dead of night, reading books beside the fireplace. More than once Viktor had fallen asleep there; his head lolling backward, drooling on the cushions. And despite his aching back, Yakov always made sure to carry him back to bed.

Yakov shook his head. He didn't have time to reminisce about the past.

He looked up at the sky. The days were incredibly short in the winter. Viktor had been lucky last night. It was probably only sheer idiocy that caused him to seek out the warmth of the bar. But if Yakov didn't find him, he would probably spend the night curled up in some alley. And then…

Yakov didn't want to think about that.

Out of desperation, he pulled out his phone. However this time, he didn't call Viktor.

Lilia picked up on the fifth ring, just before the call went to voicemail.

"I'm in the middle of something," she said. "This better be good."

"Good day to you too," Yakov said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Bothering his ex-wife was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was running out of ideas.

"What is it?" Lilia asked.

"I need your help," Yakov said. This plan sounded better in his head. "Have you seen Vitya recently?"

"Not in a while," Lilia said. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"He went out drinking last night and didn't come home."

"Drinking?" she asked. "Isn't the Grand Prix Final next week?"

"It is," Yakov said. "And I don't know why he was drinking. But somehow he managed to drag along Georgi and Mila. They drank together until past midnight, then Vitya walked Georgi home before going back to the bar."

"And he hasn't been seen since?" she asked.

"The bartender saw him leave at six o'clock," he said. "I've been looking for him all afternoon."

"Have you checked the libraries?" Lilia asked.

"Yes," he said. "The bookstores too. But he wasn't there."

"Where else did you look?"

"I checked the nearby shops, then I went to his favorite cafes and restaurants," he said. "After that I checked the nearby parks. They all came up empty."

Yakov slowly came to a stop. He leaned backwards against a nearby brick wall.

"I have absolutely no idea where he is," he said, shuttering as the words left his lips. "And I don't know what to do."

The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming, a deep coldness within him that only grew in intensity as each moment passed.

"Do you have any idea what caused him to drink in the first place?"

"He's been stressing about his career," Yakov said. "And I noticed he's been increasingly distant these past few weeks."

He heard Lilia hum on the other side of the line.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Well," she said. "The Vitya I remember liked to be alone whenever he was upset. So far you've been looking at populated places. But where would he go if he wanted to be by himself?"

Lilia had a point.

Now that Yakov thought about it, Viktor tended to seek solitude whenever he was feeling down. In fact, if it was a really bad day, he probably would have gone to the most unpopulated place he could find.

"I think I know where he went."

* * *

Even though the sun was sitting just above the waves, the beach was nothing short of freezing. Yakov huddled deeper into his coat, shivering as frigid air blew in from the ocean. He was walking along a trail that ran parallel to the water, observing the driftwood and boulders that littered the sand. He stopped every few feet to examine the rocks, trying to determine if it was a regular stone or a four time World Championship skater.

There was a very large boulder up ahead. It was about the size of the small car; composed of distinct lines of grey and bronze. A variety of litter had been blown against it, mainly plastic bags and beer cans.

Yakov glared at the trash. Some people really didn't know how to clean up after themselves. As he walked closer, he realized that there was something huddled against the boulder. It was a figure, curled up in a brown coat with silver hair drifting in the wind.

"Vitya!"

Yakov was before him in moments.

Viktor had wrapped his coat tightly around him. There was a vomit down the front of his chest and sand clinging to his clothes. His shoulders were tense, shivering, and arms cradled his head.

Yakov pulled off his glove and touched a bare hand to Viktor's neck. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a pulse beat beneath his skin.

Viktor's eyes slit open.

"Yakov?"

Viktor's normally dazzling blue eyes looked so dull and empty.

Yakov forced himself to nod.

"Can you get up?" he asked.

Viktor closed his eyes again.

"Don't think so."

Yakov grasped the skater's shoulders and leaned him back against the boulder. Viktor groaned at the motion, tightening his arms around his head. Yakov pulled off his own coat, braced against the cold winter breeze, and wrapped it around Viktor's shoulders.

"Come on," Yakov said, trying to lift Viktor to his feet. "Let's get you home."

Viktor managed to stand, albeit leaning heavily on Yakov. They began walking across the beach.

Viktor looked at him with half lidded eyes.

"Aren't you angry?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not yelling," Viktor said.

With all reason, Yakov should be yelling. In the span of 12 hours Viktor had managed to jeopardize the careers of everyone around him. He had gone drinking a mere week before competition, dragged Georgi and Mila along with him, fell asleep on a beach, skipped practice, and made Yakov spend the entire afternoon looking for him.

Yakov should be _furious_.

But looking at Vitya now, with his bloodshot eyes and chapped lips, curled up in both their coats, trembling in the winter wind. Yakov couldn't even find the energy to raise his voice.

He would yell later, after he got a decent night's rest and the dizzying feeling of relief finally ran its course through his system. Later, probably tomorrow, the anger and frustration would return full force. When that happened, Yakov knew he was going to yell _so loud_ , he would nearly rupture his skaters' eardrums.

But right now, Yakov would gladly give up his vocal cords if that meant getting Viktor home safely.

"If I said anything to you now, you'll only forget it by tomorrow," Yakov said. "I'll give you a proper lecture once you're sober."

Viktor let out a chuckle. He rested his head on Yakov's shoulder, reeking of salt and alcohol.

"My head hurts."

"I know," Yakov said. "But try to move your legs. You're a bit too big for me to carry."

Viktor groaned and made a pitiful attempt to walk.

Thankfully the beach was still blessedly empty and they managed to make it to the car without being spotted. Yakov was grateful. He was certainly in no mood to be assaulted by reporters and paparazzi.

He reclined the front seat all the way back before helping Viktor climb into the car. Viktor didn't even attempt to sit up, instead curling into a ball. Yakov rolled his eyes and clicked on the seatbelt. He walked around to the drivers side and got in.

"Are you okay?" Yakov asked, once they made it to the main street.

Viktor only groaned in response. He was cradling his head again.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence.

Yakov was a figure skating coach. He knew how to handle the stress of competitions. The pressure of pushing one's body to the utmost limit. He could even handle teenagers; compete with their hormones, mood swings, and heartbreaks.

But Viktor hadn't been a teenager for a long time, and this was clearly something serious.

Yakov was never good at this sort of thing. It was one of the reasons he and Lilia argued so much.

But cleaning up after drunk idiots?

Yakov knew exactly what to do.

When they had arrived at Viktor's apartment building, Yakov opened the door to find that Viktor had drooled onto the seat. He shook his head slightly before helping Viktor to stand and climb the stairs to his floor.

Makkachin all but tackled them once they opened the door.

"No, Makka," Viktor said, pushing her back. "Sit."

Makkachin sat obediently on the floor. Her tail thumped repeatedly against the tile.

Yakov maneuvered Viktor to the bathroom.

"Try to get your clothes off," he said.

Despite being hungover out of his mind, Viktor's eyes glint mischievously.

"Sorry Yakov, but you're not my type," Viktor said.

Yakov rolled his eyes.

Only Viktor could make a joke at a time like this.

He walked to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Yakov returned to the bathroom to find Viktor sitting on the tile floor; his head resting against the cabinet. He still had his clothes on.

Yakov handed him the glass.

"Drink."

Viktor's hands were so unsteady he almost dropped the glass. Yakov had to help him hold it. Once all the water was gone, he put the glass on the counter. Viktor remained seated on the floor, unmoving. With a sigh, Yakov began pulling Viktor's stinking clothes off of him.

"Let's get you into the bath."

He helped the skater climb into the tub. Viktor made no attempt to stand, instead curling into a fetal position.

Yakov turned the water on.

Viktor cursed under the freezing spray.

"You could at least wait for it to warm up," he hissed.

"It'll wake you up," Yakov said.

Viktor shot him a scowl. He drew his legs even tighter to his chest, making absolutely no effort to clean himself.

"You'll feel better after a shower," Yakov said.

Viktor tried to shake his head, but cringed at the movement.

"Too tired," he said. "Just want to sleep."

Yakov sighed again. He moved to roll up his sleeves.

"Sit up."

The water was starting to warm. Yakov grabbed a bar of soap and began to lather Viktor's back. It was awkward, but Yakov pushed through any embarrassment. They had known each other for too long to be squeamish about these sorts of things. They had lived together, even shared hotel rooms when the need arose. Yakov had even seen Viktor swim practically naked in a public pool, clad only in an extremely slim piece of cloth he insisted was a swimsuit.

Viktor didn't protest as Yakov washed his back, chest, arms, and legs. He just stared at the water dripping down from his body.

"You don't have to do this," Viktor said.

"I know."

Viktor doesn't say anything else after that. Which was good because Yakov was about to start the part he was absolutely dreading: Viktor's hair. He knows Viktor had some sort of routine. By the look of the assortment of bottles sitting on the counter, it was a lot more complicated than Yakov anticipated.

He stared at the bottles for a few moments before grabbing a random one that said " _shampoo_."

"Close your eyes," he said, running the shampoo through Viktor's hair.

Viktor complied, but sniffed the air curiously.

"You're not doing it right," Viktor said.

"What?"

"This shampoo is used for deep conditioning," Viktor explained. "You're messing up my schedule."

These words meant absolutely nothing to Yakov. The only conditioning that mattered in his life was sports related.

"You can do it yourself when you're sober," Yakov said.

Viktor bit his lip and looked down at the drain.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

"Do you want me to?" Yakov responded.

Viktor hugged his legs closer to himself.

"It's just been too much recently," he said. "But not enough at the same time."

Yakov creased his brow. That didn't make any sense. He began to rinse out the shampoo.

"Are you talking about the competitions?" he asked.

"That's part of it, I guess," Viktor said. "But it's a bit of everything, you know?"

Yakov did not know. Whatever Viktor was trying to articulate, Yakov couldn't seem to understand.

"Are you worried about the Grand Prix Final?" he tried.

"No," Viktor said. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to win anyway."

"That's an arrogant thing to say," Yakov said.

"But it's true. I'll win the Grand Prix Final, then Europeans, and then Worlds. If I was eligible to compete in Four Continents, I'm certain I'll win that too," Viktor said. "But then what? After I get my sparkling new medals, go through the same interviews, and put on the same smile over and over. What then? All I have is Makkachin. And I can't even spend that much time with her because I'm always at the rink or traveling to whatever country."

"Vitya, you are the best male figure skater in the world," Yakov said.

"I know. That's the problem," Viktor said. "Because I won't be able to skate forever. In a few years I won't even be able to do a quad. And what happens then? Skating has been my entire life. I don't even know what I am without it."

Yakov said nothing.

"Are you sure you're not going to yell?" Viktor asked.

Yakov shook his head.

"I'll give you a proper lecture about your poor judgement tomorrow," Yakov said. "And you will make up the practice time you missed."

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

Yakov helped dry Viktor off and walked him to his bedroom.

Viktor climbed into bed, snuggling under the covers. Makkachin jumped up next to him and Viktor pulled her into a hug.

"You have the rest of the day off," Yakov said. "But be at the rink early tomorrow."

"Okay," Viktor said, already half asleep. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Your welcome," Yakov said.

He turned to leave, flicking off the lights as he went.

* * *

Viktor won gold at the Grand Prix Final.

He stood proudly at the top of the podium, smiling for the crowd, eyes twinkling under the spotlight.

The audience was entranced by Viktor's performance. They cheered, oblivious to the bags under his eyes, carefully hidden by layers of foundation. They did not notice how his smile faltered ever so slightly when the camera moved away. They didn't even realize that it was the same exact smile, copy and pasted over and over and over.

Yakov watched from the side of the rink.

In this very moment: his prized skater standing on the top of yet another podium, wearing a grand new gold medal, continuing a five year win streak; Yakov had never felt like more of a failure.

He had made Viktor into everything he was. He had practically raised him as a son, coached him, taught him how to skate, put him on top of the podium, and made him a living legend. He could handle sponsors and scandals, paparazzi and reporters; he would take on the entire world if that meant keeping Viktor safe.

But he was completely helpless against the darkness in Viktor's mind.

Russia's mental health facilities were less than ideal. Correction: a majority of countries' mental health facilities were less than ideal. If Viktor was going to get professional help, he would undoubtedly have to go somewhere abroad. Yakov wasn't certain Viktor would agree to it. Yakov didn't even know if _he_ would agree to it. After all, Viktor was approaching the end of his skating career. If he took a break now, Yakov wasn't sure he could come back.

Yakov rubbed his hands together, his heart heavy in his chest.

Viktor was suffering.

And he had absolutely no idea what to do.

All he knew was that if something didn't change, if Viktor continued down the path he was on, he was heading toward an even greater breakdown than the one he had experienced a week ago. And when (not if) it happened, Yakov wasn't certain he could find him in time.

However at the very same moment that Yakov was pondering these thoughts, far above the stars started to align; they whispered amongst each other, conspiring and twisting the strings of fate.

* * *

Before Yakov even entered the banquet hall, he could tell it was going to be a very long night.

The banquet was his least favorite part of every competition. It was a rather dismal affair, more of tradition than practicality. There was small talk with the other skaters and coaches, flattery for the sponsors, and maybe some more small talk with the ISU officials. Last year, Yakov distinctively remembered thinking that nothing interesting ever happened at these banquets.

He was about to be proven very _very_ wrong.

Yakov had stepped outside for a single phone call. St. Petersburg had been hit with an unexpected snowstorm and all flights had been canceled. He spent a grueling half an hour yelling at the airline, trying to reschedule their flight.

When he finally returned to the banquet, the first thing he noticed was that people were crowding around the middle of the room. Then he heard the distinctive sound of laughter, almost drowned out by several loud cheers. Was someone dancing?

He caught the eye of another coach. They looked away instantly, a smirk on their lips. Raising an eyebrow, Yakov turned his attention back to the middle of the room. Somewhere in the midst of the crowd, he caught a glimpse of Viktor's yellow phone case and Mila's pink dress.

Yakov gritted his teeth.

_What were they thinking?_

Yakov marched across the hall, ready to grab his skaters by the scruff of their necks and drag them back to their hotel rooms.

They were in a room with the most important people in the world of figure skating. _They were public figures._ Did they forget that they all had images to protect? Carefully cultivated over the years, too precious to be ruined by a single drunken night.

Yakov shoved past the crowd until he was finally able to get a good view of what was happening.

Yuri was in the middle of a dance off with Katsuki Yuuri, Mila was laughing, recording everything on her phone, and Viktor was-

He was smiling.

A real genuine smile.

Yakov stopped in his tracks.

In the middle of the floor, Katsuki began an elaborate breakdance.

Viktor watched him, completely fixated on his movements. His lips spread in the biggest smile he's had for a long time, laughter reaching all the way up to his eyes.

Yakov sighed.

He might not be able to guard against the shadows that lurked in Viktor's mind, or properly console him with his feelings, or even keep him from being impulsive; but he will let Viktor have tonight.

Tomorrow the media will surely make a scene of this. Tomorrow his skaters were going to get an hour long lecture on public decency. But tonight-

Yakov turned around. With his students drawing all the attention, the horderves and other complimentary food had been completely forgotten. He stepped towards the caterers, trying to get a better look at their dishes.

Tonight, Yakov was going to sample some regional cuisine.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be funny, but it ended up being one of the most personal stories I have ever written. Many of my family members do have mental illnesses. So I wanted to portray the experience of watching a loved one who is hurting, but being completely lost as to what to do or how to help. It may be hard, but remember that people do love and care for you. And if you are struggling, please reach out to your loved ones and seek professional help if you can. 
> 
> I am currently looking for a beta reader. Please let me know if that interests you.
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](https://abstract-moth.tumblr.com/)


End file.
